


True

by Camorra



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Freeform, Kitsune, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 19:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camorra/pseuds/Camorra
Summary: Promises are meant to be kept





	True

**Author's Note:**

> thank yu (get it?) for looking it over for me. you're a godsend.  
> inspired by varrix. she must be stopped.

He’s made a mistake. 

It got a lot darker a lot faster than he thought it would. The shadows of the trees stretched and stretched until the dark is everywhere and the dirt path is barely visible, a vague outline of where some things aren’t. The crickets have long been chirping, but now they’re reaching a crescendo, and the nocturnal animals have come out to play, leaping through the bushes, daring in their camouflage.

The moon is full, but it’s only enough light to see vague outlines, enough light to know how much he’s missing. Enough light to trick a man into continuing down a road, thinking he can see.

He was foolish. The old woman in the last town had told him it was getting dark earlier, faster, that winter was coming much earlier this year than it had any other, but he’s traversed these roads often enough that they feel like home and he was confident and foolhardy.

But the road stretched, and now here his is, too far along to turn back, too far from the next village to pray to stumble on it blindly.

He should have waited. Even his pursuers would have given up hope and waited, superstitious farmers they are. Killed their kin he may have, but he’s just one ronin among many that would have done the same thing. He’s not worth pursuing too much. There’s no rush into the south, the warlords have been going at it for a hundred years and will still be going at it for a hundred years more.

And these woods are the things that birth the superstitions of ghouls and demons and monster, thick as they are with old, towering trees and thorny underbrush. A fox pokes its head out of the thorns, sniffing at the edges of Shiki’s white kimono, batting with it playfully before trundling off the way he came.

He’s not stupid enough to push on and risk losing the tiny path that winds through the trees. Legend has it that any who stray are from the path of the forest are the rightful tribute to the god of it, the cost of making the small, snaking trail.

Shiki isn’t superstitious. He won’t become tribute, but that doesn’t mean he won’t become hopelessly lost among the trees, no way out, wandering until he drops.

There’s no help for it. He sinks to the base of a tree, back against the rough bark, laying his sword across his legs. It’ll be a long, cold night.

* * *

 

Tokyo is brighter at night than it is during the day.

During the day, it’s all shades of gray and black as the office workers trudge to their jobs and drag themselves back, the pure light of the sun doing nothing to disguise the bags under their eyes and the slump in their shoulders and the paunch at their stomachs.

But at night, it’s different. Neon lights highlight clothes in as many colors, shadows hide imperfections making everything that much _prettier_ that much _better,_ undercutting everything with an edge of mystery and promise.

He’s not a stranger to the small pools of light in dark, dark nights. He’s a master of it, really, long before humans figured out how to use it to their advantage. Before there were _places_ that only thrived at night.

Before there were _cities._

It was fun at first.

The neon lights and the smells and all the colors and all the _people._ So many of them! All sorts, every which way, humans humans humans! You didn’t have to _hunt_ for them, there they were, out in the open, no idea they should be hiding.

Never any shortage of fun to be had, you could send one off the main road into the dark, twisty alleys. Snatch another’s food right out of their hands. Seduce another, all in the same hour if you wanted.

But.

Sometimes it’s a bit _much_. The city isn’t kind in the winter or summer, or any time in between. There’s no place to hide from the sun or the wind, not like in the forest. No little crannies or nooks. Or berries to eat when you’re hungry or fish or anything else that catches your fancy.

But it’s not _hard_ to get money. He could snatch it or find it or sometimes the humans will pay for you, for the endless expanse of pale skin you can conjure with big, beautiful eyes.

But it’s endless and tiring and sometimes it makes him feel hollow, like everything of substance is gone and he’s just blowing in the wind. And nights like tonight make him long for the forest. When the air is bitter and cold and _relentless._ When no amount of snuggling into a ‘borrowed’ coat makes you feel any warmer and your bones feel brittle and cold.

But there’s nothing to go back to, anymore. There’s only forward.

Speaking of, speaking of. There’s someone coming. Ohh, better, it’s a man. Those are easy to convince and sway.

And there’s something about the way he moves, the way that he holds himself, that tickles some long lost memory.

Izaya shifts into his best form, the one that never fails to get him into warm rooms with soft sheet. His long hair tickles his wrists as he smiles something full of promise. “Hello there.”

“Not interested, sorry,” the man says, not sparing more than a cursory glance his way.

Rude, rude, _rude._ Who does he think he is? They’re all interested! Ah, ah. No they’re not. Some are intimidated when a woman is too beautiful, yes that’s it.

Izaya scampers off to the next alley way, putting on his next-best disguise. “G-g-good evening, s-s-sir,” he stammers, full of shy deference.

“Not interested, sorry,” the man says again.

Not interested? They’re all interested in Izaya, _all_ of them, it’s just a matter of the right _form._

One last shot. His last shift feels the most natural, fitting into his new form all the way to the edges with no places that pinch and chafe. The one that flows when he moves.

Izaya doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to. The man hesitates, his steps slowing as he walks by. He’s staring, lingering like he’s trying to drink him in.

“What are you doing out here so late at night?” the man says, stopping for the first time.

Izaya shrugs with one shoulder. “Just outside enjoying the night air, what else would I be doing?” The trick is to look coy and innocent all at once. It’s a hard trick, but he’s had a while to practice.

The man looks amused. “You might want to enjoy the night air somewhere else. Someone might get the wrong idea, seeing you hanging outside this area.”

Izaya shifts his weight, leaning a shoulder against the rough of the brick. “Oh? And what idea would that be?”

“Nothing worth mentioning,” the man says. “But it’s a bit cold to be outside, isn’t it? Could I buy you a drink?”

Izaya pretends to think, tapping a finger against his chin. “A drink might give a man a wrong idea, ne? How about a warm bowl of ramen?”

“Fair enough,” the man says, tucking a hand into a pocket, smirk curling the edges of his mouth. “I know a place, not too far. Good food, from what I’ve heard.”

* * *

 

He must have fallen asleep because he startles awake, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword.

It’s bright, brighter than the light of the moon should be, and he blinks.

It’s a young man, standing on the other edge of the small path, he’s got a lantern in one hand and it illuminates his pale skin. For a moment, Shiki thinks that he’s just a head, a disembodied ghost here to warn him from the dangers of the place. A long lost soul looking for solace.

Then he blinks, and no. The man’s dark kimono had simply blended into the shadows behind him.

The man doesn’t look as surprised to see Shiki as Shiki is to see him.

“Traveler,” the man says, voice warm and smooth. “What are you doing in the forest so late? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

Shiki all of a sudden feels vulnerable and naked sitting on the forest floor, and he heaves himself up.

“There's no need for that,” the man says, holding up a hand, head cocked and eyes amused. It's then Shiki realizes he’s taken his sword in hand. “I was just wondering if you would like a place to stay for the night. The forest is dangerous, don't you know? All sorts of creatures that go bump in the night.”

“How did you know to find me here?”

“I have my ways. Come on now, the forest is dark, and it grows colder.” As if to illustrate his point, he clutches his kimono tighter and shivers. “Wouldn’t you prefer to be warm?”

Shiki would. His toes and fingers and tips of his nose have long gone past tingling and now feel more like wooden blocks strapped to him than any actual part of his body.

It’s starting to be dangerous to be out. He’s seen those without noses and missing fingers, gone to the frost and snow.

But even so.

“Where do you you live?”

“Oh,” the man says, “just a ways away, through the trees. It wouldn’t be far.”

The man’s face suggests innocence and earnestness. Everything from his wide eyes to his tone.

But Shiki is no fool and can feel the deception and malice right behind the words.

“No.”

“But traveler,” the man says, leaning against a tree. “If you stay out here in the woods, you’ll die.”

“If I follow you, I’ll die.”

“Well, now, that’s not a terribly kind thing for you to say.”

“It’s a true thing for me to say.”

The man lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and the neck of his kimono slips down to reveal it. He doesn’t seem to mind it. “Perhaps. But your death is certain if you stay out here.”

Shiki frowns. “It’s not so cold.”

“No,” the man agrees, smiling. “You’ll live, perhaps a few fingers less, but you’ll live. Humans can be so resilient. But perhaps the troupe trailing after you might bring you more trouble.”

“Troupe?”

“Oh, not like tumblers and things,” the man talks with his hands, gesturing with one hand and tapping his lip with the other. The lantern hovers in the air, unaided. Shiki is sure this is intentional. “Less like a troupe and more like a group dedicated in the purpose of killing you, I suppose.”

“I’m unafraid of them,” Shiki says, because it’s true, even as the thought of more unnecessary bloodshed makes him tired to the bone.

“Oh, yes, you would be, a true ronin. Strong. Brave,” the man says, and Shiki gets the sense that he’s being mocked. “Honorable.”

“I never claimed to be any of those things.”

“Is that right?” The edge of the kimono falls farther, far enough that it’s gone from messy to outright scandalous, the sort of thing you’d see on display in the red light districts. “Not even strong? I think you are. Your swords say you are. The other two,” a gesture that Shiki can’t interpret, but seems dismissive, “I do believe action speak loudly, ne?”

“What is it you want from me?” Shiki says, suddenly very tired and very aware of how his hands are stained red.

“Nothing at all,” the creature says, it’s teeth too bright, too sharp.

“Because if you want me to follow you, I will.”

The man straightens in surprise, and Shiki can see a tail, swishing behind him, do the same. “Just like that?”

The forest is cold and treacherous and the men behind him are dangerous, and there’s a bright creature in front of him that promises _more._

“Just like that.”

It was barely even a choice, really.

* * *

 

The ramen shop is almost uncomfortably warm after the chill outside, but the ramen is _delicious._ Shiki doesn't eat, just watches him with a sort of studied boredom that reminds Izaya of a vampire. Not to say it’s not predatory, it is, vampires just know how to hide when they’re stalking their prey just a tiny bit better.

And it really is just the tiniest bit, this one looks like he’s about to reach across the table to gobble him up.

He tries to surreptitiously sniff the air, but all that comes back is the smell of onions and garlic and the warmth of humans.

But still. The persistent tickle that he _should know_ this face plagues him, and it makes him wary.

“Izaya,” Shiki rolls it around his mouth like something he's not sure the flavor of. “Interesting name.”

“So‘s Shiki,” Izaya says in between bites. Shiki was right, the food _is_ good. Pity he’s not having any, must be watching that rail-thin figure of his. Shiki. Something sharp, something familiar. Perhaps he’s met someone of his line a ways ago. Or perhaps not, those Izaya used to meet didn’t really go on to have family lines.

“It’s not, really.”

Izaya takes another slurp of his ramen bowl. “It’s sharp. Like you.”

Shiki’s expression doesn’t change, but Izaya gets the impression that he’s pleased and amused. “Oh?”

“I imagine that’s the sort of man that makes it far in your…chosen profession, ne?” he says it with half lidded eyes and a glace at the edge of Shiki’s sleeve, where tattoos could be peeking out. They aren’t, but Shiki tugs on his sleeve any way. “Come now, don’t be shy. I’ll see them later tonight anyway.”

This time, an eyebrow goes up, but Izaya gets the sense of amusement again. “Will you now?”

Izaya looks at Shiki, really looks.

He’s wearing a white suit. It shows signs of wear, but it’s not filthy. He’s fastidious. His fingers are twitching, though it’s obvious he’s trying to still them, but they edge traitorously toward his coat, where his cigarettes doubtlessly lie. His hair is cut short, but still curls around his ears slightly, in need of a cut.

And his eyes.

His eyes are paradoxical. Warm brown, but so cold. They’re unnerving in the way they almost seem _knowing._ But even beyond that, they’re overladen with something else. Something hungry.

But no, that’s not quite it. It’s something _sad_. Something deeply terribly sad.

 

* * *

 

The hand in his is warmer than he expected.

His guide is impatient, tugging him faster than he can keep up, and he stumbles over stones and roots he can’t see. He’s not sure the direction they’re traveling in and hasn’t been sure for a while.

Meanwhile, the creature _chatters._

“Oh, will you _keep up?_ Honestly, you’d think humans were born blind for all their stumbling around. Oh! But where was I? Yes. The origin of the forest.”

It’s incredible. He’s a veritable font of knowledge of the history of gods and mortals alike, and one thing becomes painfully clear to Shiki as he’s dragged along, the nails on the hand that drags him becoming sharper and sharper until they dig into his skin with the threat of drawing blood.

The creature is painfully, horribly lonely.

He thinks it’s a trick at first, the sensation of air becoming warmer around him. But as he starts to sweat in his kimono, he realizes it’s not.

The second thing he hears, originally disguised under the babble of his companion’s words, is the bubbling of water.

They emerge into a clearing, and it finally makes sense.

It’s a hot spring, not terribly large, but not small either. The water is still and the stars and moon reflect back in it like a mirror. Steam wafts gently over the surface.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He climbs up to the rocks on the edge, and trails a hand through the water, and the ripples obscure the moon and stars. “I like to come here to—what are you doing?”

Shiki’s halfway out of his kimono, leaving it on the edge of the pool. “Getting in.”

The water is shallow, but deep enough that it hits his neck when he’s kneeling. His hair fans out about him.

He looks up, to see wide eyes staring back down. “Aren’t you going to come in?”

“I don’t really— I mean. You have tattoos.”

“They won’t contaminate the water, I promise.”

“I haven’t seen any humans with that sort of marking.” He clambers closer on the rocks, hand outstretched.

Shiki reaches out and tugs him in, kimono and all. He yips in surprise, and he lets go of his false form a little more in his shock, ears peeking out of wet hair, strange red traces on his neck and his chest.

Eyelids flutter as he blinks water out of his eyes, and Shiki pauses as something content and warm unfurls in his chest that has nothing to do with the warmth of the hot spring.

He’s gorgeous. He could be content with bright eyes peering up at him forever.

Shiki kisses him in the light of the moon.

* * *

 

Shiki is a _generous_ lover. More generous than he expected, at least.

* * *

 

“I never did catch your name,” Shiki says, still in the water. He’ll have to get out soon, his skin is pruning rapidly, but it’s so terribly warm and the air is so terribly cold.

His companion is stretched out on the rocks, the dawn sun slowly traveling up his back. He’s tracing Shiki’s tattoos more gently now, more lazily than he did last night when he traced them with unerring precision even in the dark.

“I don’t have one.” He seems unconcerned, and his tail appears again, swishing lazily. “Foxes have no need of such things.”

He’s not even pretending to hide anymore, and his eyes change from something close to human’s to anything but.

“Is that right?”

“Naming is a human thing,” he says, “a desire to understand and categorize the world around them, to try and make sense of the chaos. It’s futile, of course.”

“Then will you permit my foolishness?” Shiki says, laying a cheek on the fox’s back, catching and releasing his tail lazily. Muscles tense under his cheek.

“And what would you presume to name me?” There’s forced lightness in his tone, though the reason Shiki can only guess.

 _Hizashi,_ a part of him says. Name him after the sunlight that’s creeping along his back.

But that’s not quite right.

Then he thinks of the shadows he danced between last night, and that seems better, but that’s not right either.

Then he thinks of the stories about humans he had to tell, apart but witness all the same.

“Izaya,” he says, at last. He who watches.

“I will consider it,” Izaya says, and he rolls over, dragging Shiki up by clawed fingers up to lazy kisses.

* * *

 

Breakfast is warm and delicious and more than he expected.

Most look at him in the cold light of morning as if they expected him to be gone, long gone. He’s a mistake, and one they don’t want to see more of. It’s human nature to be so fickle, and it doesn’t hurt him.

But it’s absence is startling.

“Did you want more bacon?” Shiki says, voice dry, even as he stands.

“Oh, I’d hate to trouble you,” Izaya says in the honey-sweet tones that usually cajole into more.

To his surprise, Shiki just snorts. “You don’t care if you trouble me.” The words are harsh but the tone is warm, like they’re something close. Like they’re lovers, real lovers. The bacon sizzles loudly in the pan.

“You’ve been a generous host,” Izaya says into the silence.

Shiki grunts, turns to check the glowing numbers on the microwave. “Unfortunately, I can’t be more than that, I’m going to be late. Finish the bacon and then—” _you know where the door is “—_ help yourself to whatever you can find. If you’re still here, we can go out for dinner or order in— it’s your choice.”

And like that, Shiki strides out the door.

* * *

 

The sun rises and sets many times, and Izaya makes no move to kick him out. Shiki makes no move to leave.

Instead, he eats the berries Izaya brings him. He cooks rabbits that he catches in traps, and Izaya eats the cooked meat with wonder and fascination. He lays with his head pillowed on Izaya’s chest as he tells him tales he’s never heard before of the stars and their petty squabbles. He listens as Izaya tells him tales of humans he’s seen and watched and watched die.

He sounds so terribly sad.

“Don’t you want to see the world, be a part of it?”

“I see plenty of the world,” Izaya says, stiffening, but trying to hide it. Hard, when you’re naked as sin.

“You want more though, don’t you?” Shiki says it as the statement of fact it is. “You want to walk among them.”

Izaya laughs, but it’s forced and high. “Now, now. Wouldn’t that be the height of foolishness, my kind are not welcomed among yours.”

“You can hide it,” Shiki insists, coming over to trace the line of Izaya’s spine. The skin ripples under his fingers, those strange red marks blossoming against his skin. His fingers meet a tail that wasn’t there before. Shiki strokes it, and Izaya shivers. “I could be your guide, show you how to act, how to look casual. Make it so you wouldn’t be caught out.”

Izaya looks troubled, conflicted, his fingers twirling the grass in front of him absently.

“You can think about it, and give me your answer when I return. I pass through these woods often.”

Izaya’s head whips around. “You’re leaving?” He tries to sound neutral about it, but he’s failing all sorts of miserably.

“I can’t stay here forever,” Shiki says softly.

Izaya doesn’t look at him as he leaves.

* * *

 

Izaya stays.

It’s because it’s cold out, really. Gentle snowflakes are falling past the windows, and it’s really the sensible option, to stay where it’s warm and where there’s food. It’s natural.

Well, maybe he’s a little bit curious, just the smallest bit, you understand. What kind of mortal takes in what he thinks is a whore, feeds them and leaves free range of their apartment?

Well, those crime dramas that he humans seem to love have give him an answer to that. But the door swings open on silence hinges when he tries it and he’s certain that he can be more than a match for a mere mortal, if it became violent. He has many tails, after all, and much experience fighting violent humans, and even more evading them.

So, he stays. He riffles through sparse drawers and looks through picture frames. He riffles through books and flips through the tv channels. He scours through the refrigerator, and all along, the windows get brighter then gradually darken.

It’s later than he expects when the door jangles and pushes open. The smell that lingers around the apartment becomes stronger as its human pushes through the door, one arm heavy with food.

“Sorry I’m late,” Shiki says, and Izaya has the oddest sense of a wish he had finally being fulfilled, but he doesn’t know what it could be. “I’ve brought dinner.”

* * *

 

Shiki doesn’t come back.

* * *

 

Shiki doesn’t make him leave. Days come and go, nights with them. Some are spent in Shiki’s bed, but most are not. It doesn’t make sense, it goes against everything Izaya knows about humans.

“You can leave,” Shiki says one morning over a plate of eggs, and Izaya’s heart pounds in his chest, “the apartment during the day. I’ll give you a key, but I didn’t think you needed one.”

Izaya blinks. “Of course I’d need a key,” Izaya says, because humans can’t unlock doors with a thought, and that’s a way to get himself into trouble.

“I didn’t think that kitsune needed keys,” Shiki says, looking untroubled. Izaya’s stomach drops out through his feet. But before he can bolt, Shiki says, “Oh come now, don’t you remember me?”

And Izaya pauses.

His hair is shorter. Much shorter. And the bags under his eyes are more pronounced, facilitated by the invention of electricity. And he’s thin, so thin, lacking the musculature of someone accustomed to fighting for his life, but the eyes that peer out are the same.

And Izaya can’t believe he didn’t see it before.

“So,” Izaya says, fighting to keep his voice even, “finally come to keep your word, human?”

Shiki smiles, and it’s mostly in his eyes. “It’s only the honorable thing to do.”

 


End file.
